


When All's Said and Done

by LadyDorian



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: First Love, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDorian/pseuds/LadyDorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with sex; whatever followed had simply been an afterthought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We can't let this happen again.

_We can't let this happen again._

It was the first thing Numbers said to him that morning.

They'd been awake for some time, but Wrench had been keeping his thoughts to himself, unsure of how much of the previous night Numbers would claim to have forgotten. Whatever he eventually chose to spit out, Wrench knew it would be pure bullshit. Neither had been very drunk when it had happened, certainly not enough to say they hadn't enjoyed themselves.

He was taking it in stride, though. The fact that they were both still in the same cramped motel bed, Numbers sitting up with his hands in his lap while Wrench lounged on his back beneath the sheets, was a miracle in and of itself. If Numbers was expressing regret, Wrench expected to feel nothing less than the full force of his rage: A kick, a punch, maybe even a knife to the groin. But he simply sat there, head bowed, mumbling things that Wrench couldn't pick up, before turning and frowning. _This should never have happened. It was a mistake. It can't happen again, OK?_

Although Wrench didn't agree with him in the least, he solemnly nodded. The last thing he wanted was to ruin one night of amazing sex with an argument about how said amazing sex should be allowed to continue. He wasn't interested in the excuses, anyway. They were all basically the same, subtle variations on _I'm not really gay_ and _I don't want this to get complicated_ and the tried and true _It's not you, it's me_. He'd had enough men break it off with him to know what was coming next.

Besides, Numbers was partially right; Wrench couldn't allow his lust to drive a wedge in their partnership. His feelings for him went far beyond Numbers "being his type"—slightly muscular, hairy like a grizzly, with dark eyes and a gleaming smile. He was clever, funny, and surprisingly kind beneath his sullen exterior—traits that had been revealed as the two had grown closer. Numbers wasn't just his partner, he was his _friend_ , and Wrench forced aside his irritation for his sake. He could live with the disappointment of rejection. He'd survived this long already.

Numbers was shaking his head and speaking to himself again. Wrench tugged at the sheets beside his knee to get his attention, afraid of what might happen if he tried to touch him, as innocent as the touch may have been. Once Numbers looked his way, Wrench flashed a weak smile and promised that everything was OK between them, and now that it was out of their systems, _No, it won't happen ever again._

His words seemed to ease his partner's insecurity, and Numbers pressed his lips together and gave a nod before stating that they should get up and get back on the road to Fargo, and that he was going to take a shower now. He leaned over the edge of the bed and looked around for his underwear, eventually giving up and stumbling towards the bathroom completely nude. Wrench had thought it too embarrassing to tell him that he'd last seen the pair flung over one of the television antennas. He smirked when he craned his neck and saw them in the exact same spot.

It was impossible to convince himself not to feel anything at that moment. Numbers was probably in the shower right then, banishing each second of their first fuck to the darkest pits of his subconscious. _He_ may have wanted to forget, but if Wrench never got another shot with Numbers, he was going to milk the memory for all it was worth. Instead of swimming in his own chagrin, Wrench closed his eyes and thought of the softness of Numbers' lips, the taste of him in his mouth. He thought of the scent of sex and sweat that had surrounded them, of the sounds he'd felt when he'd kissed his throat and chest. He thought of the faces Numbers had made when he'd slid inside him, and later when he'd come, mouth parted in pleasure as his hands clawed at Wrench's hips. Above all, he thought of the heat of his body, how he'd calmly let Wrench hold him afterwards, until they both fell asleep. How he'd managed to make the most uncomfortable motel bed warm and inviting.

It had taken him so long to work up the courage to make a move, to put all the fear and anxiety behind him and fucking _kiss him_ already, he hoped that maybe—just maybe—Numbers would change his mind.

Yet he knew from experience they so rarely did.


	2. That was so fucking good!

_That was so fucking good!_

Numbers tried to sit up, but flopped right down onto his back again. He was flushed and panting, and Wrench had to stifle a laugh at the sight of him. If he so much as hinted at the stern vow Numbers had made less than a month ago, he was sure he'd wake up tomorrow missing several choice parts of his anatomy.

If Wrench had been solely responsible for seducing Numbers the first time, then this time they were both to blame. They'd come together in a synchronized frenzy, each reaching for what they wanted, unbuttoning and unzipping clothes, biting lips and pulling at hair, placing hands on throbbing cocks. Wrench had had every inch of Numbers crammed in his mouth, slick fingers lightly massaging his prostate, and each time he'd looked up at him, Numbers had been gasping and smiling back, enjoying every stroke, every flick of Wrench's tongue across his head. His gaze had been almost too much for Wrench to bear; he'd rushed to get inside of him, afraid of blowing his load before they'd barely started.

It was the best sex since their last hookup.

Best of all, neither had had a single drop of alcohol, which meant Numbers would have to face his own actions without excuse. Wrench rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow, patiently waiting for Numbers' breathing to steady. The hair on his stomach was matted with sweat and come, and Wrench couldn't resist snaking out a hand to touch it. He felt like he could do so without fear of having it chopped off. Hell, after tonight, he felt like anything was possible.

When Numbers shivered and turned his head towards him, Wrench grinned, echoing Numbers' earlier sentiment: _Good?_

He licked his lips and then, as if to outdo Wrench, remarked, _Amazing._ Numbers continued to fiddle around with his hands, and Wrench thought he might actually continue their conversation about how great the sex was, and how he was wrong to say they shouldn't have fucked, and could Wrench _please_ do that thing where he twirls his tongue inside of him again?

_But I meant what I said before. We can't keep doing this. We need to control ourselves._ He signed it with a pained look on his face, one full of insecurity and self-loathing. It made Wrench want to throttle some goddamn sense into him.

But he restrained himself, gave a curt nod and shuffled off to the bathroom to clean up. It was too late for a shower, so he wiped the memory of their evening from his skin with a damp rag, moving slowly in an attempt to remain calm. He found that just picturing himself punching holes in walls and ripping out fixtures was sufficient enough to temper his anger. It wasn't like he had other options.

This wasn't fair; Numbers was treating him like some fucktoy—he was good enough for a casual screw every now and then, good enough to wear his saliva and come, but not good enough to acknowledge as a lover or boyfriend. Wrench chided himself for believing Numbers would be different from the closeted one-night-stands and the men in bars who would suck your dick in the restroom after buying you a cheap beer. He'd known something like this would happen; the odds had never been in his favor. But it had been the first time he'd truly wanted to be wrong.

When he exited the bathroom, he saw Numbers curled up on his side in bed, facing away from him. He appeared to be fast asleep. Wrench located his boxers and pulled them on, glancing over at the untouched bed a few feet away from his partner's. The thought crossed his mind that he should probably sleep alone. That it was for the best. That whatever brief fling they'd had would definitely end right here and now.

With a sigh, he pulled back the covers and crawled in beside Numbers, careful not to touch him. He'd sleep in the other bed starting tomorrow night.


	3. Sorry, I couldn't wait.

_Sorry, I couldn't wait._

Before he signed it, Numbers had wiped his come-smeared hand on the carpet of Wrench's precious Buick, an action that would have sent Wrench into a murderous rampage had he not reminded himself that the interior had seen a lot worse over time. A handful of come was just a drop in the bucket, and Wrench followed suit, figuring one more wouldn't hurt.

His legs hurt, though; he couldn't remember why they'd ended up in the backseat to begin with, but as soon as they'd settled in, Numbers was all over him, prying his mouth open with sloppy kisses, pulling his turtleneck down so he could suck and bite his throat. His tongue had been so hot and wet against his skin, so fucking toe-curlingly good, Wrench hadn't thought twice before stripping off his heavy winter coat to give Numbers better access. The furry monstrosity Numbers sometimes wore had been quickly tossed to the front along with it. They'd been doing a far better job of fogging up the windows than the lackluster heating system could have ever hoped to accomplish.

It hadn't taken long before he'd felt fingers tearing at his belt, eager to undo his zipper. Numbers' hands had been warm, having spent most of the night snug inside a pair of gloves, and when he'd wrapped one around Wrench's hard cock, Wrench had forgotten all about the snow surrounding them. Neither had had much time to think of the cold outside, not when they'd been so worked up, furiously jerking each other off until their clothes and hands had become splattered with thick come.

Wrench grinned as he flexed his sticky fingers, amused by the thought of how juvenile they'd seemed, yanking each other's dicks, sucking on tongues like a pair of teenagers trying to round home plate before dad asked for the car back. As embarrassing as that should have been, Wrench was more than pleased with the outcome.

Numbers said he couldn't wait. For what, Wrench wasn't sure. A bed, maybe? A warm motel? An invitation from Wrench?

_That_ option was out of the question. After the pain of last time, Wrench had sworn off pursuing his partner. It had been a difficult commitment—mornings spent jacking in the shower and nights awkwardly trolling bars for blowjobs—but Wrench had held fast, and after several weeks of uneasiness, his urges had gradually become more manageable. He only had to remind himself that he was finished with Numbers' games.

But this time, Numbers had gotten aggressive. If he'd been getting off with someone other than Wrench, they'd been doing a shit job of it. He'd come off as frustrated and needy, anxious to take what he'd been missing. And now Wrench was wondering what, if anything, Numbers had planned for later. What other things he couldn't wait to do to him.

There wasn't time to inquire before the cold started to creep back in, along with the realization that they were still on the job. Fargo wasn't paying them to fuck around, and if the syndicate found out they'd been playing with their cocks when they should have been watching their target, money would be the least of their worries.

Wrench hurriedly tucked himself back inside his jeans, reaching into the front seat for his coat. When he turned, he saw that Numbers had already repositioned his clothing, and was shivering as he pulled the mink fur tight around his shoulders. His hair was sticking out in the places Wrench had grabbed it, glistening with sweat under the car's dull interior light. Without thinking, Wrench reached out and smoothed the few strands down. Numbers jumped, but when Wrench pulled back, he brought his fingers up in a quick _Thank you_. He gazed down at his wrinkled suit in disgust.

_Don't ever let me do this again._

Wrench narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his hands unconsciously clench into fists in his coat pockets.

_Car's too small. Need to wait for a motel, so our clothes won't smell like J-I-Z-Z. OK?_ He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows, and Wrench couldn't help but grin back.

_Of course._


	4. I think it's alright if we do this every once in a while.

_I think it's alright if we do this every once in a while._

Numbers sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, plucking absentmindedly at the fraying hem of the blanket that had somehow ended up halfway on the floor. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip before looking back at Wrench. _Is that alright?_

Wrench didn't know if the question had been directed at him, or if it had been more for Numbers' own reassurance. His hands were steadier when he signed it, their tone far less angry than earlier, when he had blamed Wrench for everything that had happened between them. The sudden tranquility caught him off-guard.

There were a lot of things that had managed to sneak up on him that evening, creeping slowly along the edge of his foresight before slapping him in the face. Numbers had been quiet about what they'd done in the car a few nights ago, and Wrench had half-expected at least another week to pass without acknowledgement. But as soon as they'd gotten to a motel, he'd felt those familiar hands tapping his shoulders for attention, and then hastily tugging off layers of clothing, reaching for his hips, his ass, squeezing and clawing. Numbers had been eager to get him onto his back, marking his most sensitive spots with bites and hickeys, sucking on his nipples and thighs, dragging teeth and tongue along his shaft, rolling his balls and playing with his foreskin—driving him fucking crazy. He'd been even more desperate to get Wrench's dick inside him, barely taking the time to open himself up before sinking down onto his length.

It had been the first time Wrench actually had to cram his fingers into his mouth during sex, he was so certain of the noises he'd been making. Numbers had ridden him fast and hard, slowing his hips occasionally to sign how good it felt, among other things.

_It's your fault. You started it._

Numbers had been right about that, and when Wrench thought back on their first night together, how Numbers hadn't even flinched when he'd grabbed his face and kissed him, he thanked god he had decided to take the chance. He'd never come so hard in his life.

Wrench straightened his back against the headboard, his gaze trailing over Numbers' nude body, remembering how he'd looked as he slid around on top of him, how his perfectly sculpted hair had begun to unravel with each enthusiastic bounce, how he'd pumped his cock slowly, putting on the best show Wrench had ever witnessed. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he almost forgot that Numbers was expecting some kind of answer.

_Sure. It's OK._

Numbers breathed a sigh of relief, but his expression quickly sobered when Wrench held up a hand.

_No, wait—_ He scanned his muddled brain for the right thing to say, but ended up settling on, _Much better than OK. It's fucking great._ Wrench laughed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, certain the night had just been a dream. Shit, their entire fucking relationship could have been one long fantasy concocted by his unfulfilled desires.

When he dropped his hands, he saw Numbers grinning sheepishly. He was ridiculous and gorgeous and his half-assed question was a shitty substitute for asking Wrench to be his boyfriend, but dream or reality, Wrench would gladly take it. _We can do this every night if you want,_ he added, and then followed up with, _Can we please do this every night?_

All the tension of the previous months dissolved into a burst of laughter. In response, Numbers leaned forward—still smiling and giggling—and slid his hand up Wrench's thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed his cock. He drew back and asked, _Again?_

Wrench rubbed at the sore spots on his chest, raw with beard-burn. The sight of Numbers disheveled and wanting, the memory of his lips on his body made Wrench's cock pulse back to life. He nodded, and Numbers clambered onto his lap, his kisses gentle and promising.  


	5. "I'm scared."

"I'm scared."

He said it aloud, possibly thinking Wrench wouldn't see, but Wrench liked watching him, especially while they lay in bed together after sex, and he caught the words clear as day.

He'd sensed a change in Numbers over time. He grew moody and preoccupied, zoning out on occasion and showing little interest in holding a conversation. He'd even taken up smoking again, despite Wrench's constant complaints about not wanting to makeout with an ashtray.

Wrench had avoided acknowledging it. He'd really thought their relationship would last forever, like it was a dream marriage or a fucking fairytale or some stupid shit. But those two words meant he couldn't ignore the issue any longer. If Numbers was admitting fear, then something was terribly wrong.

He scurried upright, causing Numbers to jump at the sudden movement. _What's wrong?_ His hand fell to his partner's shoulder and he gave a reassuring squeeze.

Numbers took a long drag from his cigarette before stamping it out on the cheap motel table beside the bed. He turned his head and exhaled away from Wrench, waving off the cloud of smoke. _It's nothing._ The flimsy smile on his face betrayed him.

Wrench frowned. _Please, talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you._

_I don't know._ He sighed when he noticed Wrench's exasperated glare. _Don't worry. It's not important._

Of course it was important, because _Numbers_ was important. Wrench hated how, after all their time together, he hadn't been able to tell him that. Long after the sex became regular, and the cuddling went without objection, and Numbers stopped shrinking away when Wrench reached for his hand during car rides, Wrench found he still couldn't fully express how he felt for him. He couldn't even bring himself to get angry with Numbers sometimes when he acted like a stubborn asshole—like he was doing right now—because in all honesty, it was himself he was angry with. He could never seem to tell him everything that was in his heart. Because he was afraid.

Like Numbers.

_Just tell me what's wrong. Please? You think Fargo will find out about us? Is that what you're afraid of?_

_No, that's not it._

Wrench's heart was pounding, his throat dry. _Then what?_

_I don't know._ Numbers lowered his head, covering his face with one hand. Wrench saw him mumble something as he drew his fingers down across his lips, the message lost beneath them. Rather than prod him any further, Wrench gently stroked his hip through the sheets. After a minute of coaxing, Numbers began to open up.

_I guess—_ He paused, gazing off towards the far side of the room. It seemed he was anxious to look anywhere but at Wrench's face. Eventually, his eyes fell to his hands, watching them as they moved. _I'm afraid of a lot of things. Losing myself. Losing you. Things I never even thought about when it was just me. When I was alone._ His chest heaved as he sucked in a deep breath; he blinked several times, as if he was about to cry. _But now, it's us. And sometimes, I don't know how to deal with it._

That was it? Wrench was so relieved, he nearly threw his arms around him and smothered him with kisses. Numbers would have taken offense to that, though; he would have viewed it as Wrench trivializing his emotions. Wrench had never seen him so vulnerable, not even when their bodies were pressed together during sex, and Numbers was moaning his name—his real name—the echoes of which Wrench could feel deep in his chest. He had to tread lightly.

Numbers' hands had settled in his lap, and Wrench brushed his fingertips across the heel of one, before taking it in his and squeezing. It was enough to draw Numbers' eyes back to him. When he went to pull away, Numbers resisted at first, gripping him tightly, but he relaxed when Wrench pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He wanted to hold him so badly, but the need to speak his mind was even greater.

It was now or never.

_I know what it's like,_ Wrench began. _When I fell for you a long time ago, I was just as scared. It wasn't just the fear of fucking things up with you. It was completely different. Something I don't think I've ever felt in my life._ He shrugged, trying to hide how nervous he was. _I guess that's what love feels like. Strange and scary and wonderful all at once._

There. He'd said it, that word he'd been turning over in his head for what felt like ages. And Numbers hadn't panicked. Wrench didn't know what he'd anticipated—a shove off the bed, an outburst, spittle and fists flying in his face, the sight of his partner storming towards the door as he fled his life for good—but it all seemed ridiculous as he gazed into Numbers' face and watched his lips stretch into a smile. Numbers slipped his hands behind Wrench's neck and pulled him into a kiss. He hadn't needed to say anything else.  


	6. I miss being alone together like this.

_I miss being alone together like this._

Wrench rolled his eyes and gave Numbers a soft poke in the ribs. _We're always alone together—in the car, in motels, when we're dunking some fucker's corpse. I'm getting tired of seeing your stupid beard all the time._

 _Yeah?_ He grinned deviously. _Maybe I should shave it off. All of my hair._ _Especially that bush you love so much._

_Do it and I will never suck your dick again._

_Good luck with that. It's the first thing you go for when we fuck._

Numbers laughed when Wrench flipped him off. He tried to pull himself onto his elbows for a kiss, but Wrench shoved him back to the mattress, holding him in place with a firm hand on his chest. The vibrations buzzed beneath his palm, and once Numbers had calmed, Wrench felt the rhythmic throb of his heartbeat, the gentle swell of his breathing. He dragged the very tips of his fingers through Numbers' chest hair, following the trail down his stomach. When he reached the wild tangle of pubes, Wrench gave a quick tug, watching as Numbers bit his lip in an effort to conceal a grin.

 _You know what I mean, right?_ Numbers signed lazily, unwilling to leave the comfort of his pillow. _We hardly get the chance to do this anymore._

Wrench gazed down at him, scrunching up his face. _That's because we don't fuck on the job like we used to. We're older. More professional._

He sighed. _We need a vacation._

Wrench nodded in agreement. Numbers had told him once that he'd thought their relationship would hurt the quality of their work, but as the years passed, it seemed the opposite had been true. The unending stream of assignments, the countless hits and miles of travel had worn them out, taken a toll on their intimacy. There were more than enough jobs to be done, which in their profession was both a blessing and a curse. They were both still alive, though their lives had no hope of ever being normal. Sometimes, he didn't really mind. _You know that's never going to happen._

_Why not? I'll tell them it's our second honeymoon._

_We haven't had a_ _ **first**_ _honeymoon,_ Wrench chuckled.

Numbers rolled his shoulders, his best attempt at a shrug while flat on his back. _I'll ask for the time off when we get back from the next job. We'll leave tomorrow morning, spend three more days freezing our balls off up north, then we're off to paradise._

He arched an eyebrow. _You're delusional._

 _I must be. I'm still in love with you, after all._ Numbers smiled and snatched Wrench's hands before he could sign a witty comeback. Wrench easily managed to free himself, cupping Numbers' cheeks as he bent down to kiss him. Their tongues slipped into each other's mouths for a moment, until Wrench reluctantly pulled away.

_I love you too, asshole._

Numbers licked the moisture from his lips. _You want to go another round before we head for boring B-E-M-I-D-J-I?_

_I'm tired. Let's get some sleep. We can have a quickie in the shower tomorrow._

They both grinned, and Numbers stretched his arm out across the sheets. Even when they were back home in their apartment, in their comfortable King-Size bed, they slept practically on top of each other. And Wrench wouldn't have it any other way.

He reached over to shut off the lamp on the table beside them, and then pressed a last quick peck to Numbers' cheek before laying his head upon his shoulder. The warmth of his skin and breath, the feel of his arms around him soothed Wrench better than words ever could. He closed his eyes and smiled into his lover's neck as Numbers held him tightly, mouthing his goodnights along his forehead.

 

[[end.]]


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